In Loving Memory
by The Unknown Warrior 11
Summary: Sad Songfic using In Loving Memory by Alter Bridge. Taiora.


**Hethra: **Hey everyone! This is Hethra, and if you're reading this then it means I must be doing something right. I hope...

**Edrias: **Quit deluding yourself.

**Hethra:** Hey shut up! I'd like to introduce one of my muses. Edrias. Just ignore him for now.

**Edrias:** You do know that since I'm a part of you, I can hear you right?

**Hethra:** Damn! Oh well, this is my third Digimon songfic, and what may well be the first Alter Bridge songfic in this category. A warning to all, this won't be like my other two. There is little to no romance or happiness in here. Edrias had quite the say in it.

**Edrias:** I'm his dark half.

**Hethra:** That may well be, but I'm stronger. Anyway, the song is a sad one, In Loving Memory by Alter Bridge, and I'm gonna get right on with it. I'll leave the pairing to the end, but you should be able to guess who it is by then. This isn't going to be a happy fic.

**Edrias:** You should all just leave now.

**Hethra:** No! Here's the story.

* * *

**In Loving Memory **

****

**A Songfic by **

**The Unknown Warrior**

**WARNING!**

**THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC**

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

* * *

**

**Hethra:** By the way, we, I mean I don't own Alter Bridge or Digimon. I also have no money. So don't sue.

* * *

Cars clogged the street by the majestic building. At least, on any other day it would have been majestic. Today it was sorrowful. Cars lined both sides of the street in front of it, and the parking lot was clogged. People in black, some weeping, some maintaining a strong face, however sad they were, walked towards the entrance of the building. A large cross hung over the door.

Inside the church, there was whispering, and crying, of all kind. Almost everyone there held a red rose. As the church filled, the noise became dimmer, anticipating the arrival of one who would struggle through the service. The priest at the back of the room stood solemnly, and looked up to see two large black vehicles pull up to the church entrance. One was a limo and the other was a hearse. The funeral was about to begin.

The priest watched as the people began to exit the limo. One by one they collected on the concrete stairs, every one as devastated as the rest, until one group of people exited, and for a moment, the priest began to question his faith in a god who allowed such suffering to come to pass. But he knew that God had a plan for all. He studied the most devastated of the group. There were eight. Four of them were older, two obviously the parents of the brown haired girl, and the man with brown hair, who was supported by a blond haired man of about the same age, while a younger blond stood at the girls side. And the other two were most likely the parents of the one for whom the service was offered.

After all from the limo were gathered and seated at the front, six of them went back to retrieve the coffin from the hearse. As it was laid down at the front of the church, the priest, who was at the alter, gave a look of sympathy to the brown haired boy, who was losing a war against his held back tears. The priest sighed. Funerals like this were always difficult. And as he began the sermon, he wished that he had bought more boxes of tissue.

The funeral went as well as could be expected, each of the riders from the limo giving a little speech of their friend, and then they finally reached the brown haired boy. The priest looked to the back of the crowd and then spoke.

"We now have a special farewell for the dearly departed." The priest looked down to the brown haired boy, and the two blonds. They rose and walked to the front of the church. Two others rose from the people seated at the back and also came to the front. One went to the drums, and the other to the bass guitar. The two blonds picked up two guitars, and the brown haired man went to the microphone. Silence fell upon the rest of the seated people. The older blond and the bassist began playing, a soft melody issuing from the amps, a prelude to the song. As those notes faded, the man at the microphone took a breath, and began to sing.

* * *

_Thanks for all you've done,_

_I've missed you for so long,_

_I can't believe you're gone._

_You still live in me,_

_I feel you in the wind,_

_You guide me constantly._

_I never knew what it was to be alone, no._

_Cause you were always there for me,_

_You were always home waiting._

_But now I come home and I miss your face so,_

_Smilin' down on me,_

_I close my eyes to see.

* * *

_

Here the drummer came in with a soft rock beat, and the young blond began strumming on his guitar. The brown haired man continued on to what must have been the chorus.

* * *

_And I know,_

_You're a part of me,_

_And it's your song,_

_That sets me free._

_I sing it while,_

_I feel I can't hold on_

_I sing tonight,_

_Cause it comforts me.

* * *

_

It was here that the brown haired man broke down. He slumped to the ground sobbing, but the band had expected this, so the older blond took up the second verse.

* * *

_I carry the things that remind me of you_

_In loving memory of_

_The one that was so true_

_Your were as kind as you could be_

_And even though you're gone_

_You still mean the world to me_

_I've never knew what it was to be alone, no_

_Cause you were always there for me_

_You were always there waiting_

_But now I come home and it's not the same, no_

_It feels empty and alone_

_I can't believe you're gone.

* * *

_

There was a sudden burst of light from the back of the room, and the brown haired man, imbued with a new sense of strength, stood and began to sing as the drummer and guitarists launched the chorus, this time, much louder, and with 100 times more feeling.

* * *

_And I know, _

_You're a part of me,_

_And it's your song, _

_That sets me free_

_I sing it while _

_I feel I can't hold on_

_I sing tonight _

_Cause it comforts me_

_I'm glad he set you free from sorrow_

_I'll still love you more tomorrow_

_And you'll be here with me still_

_And what you did you did with feeling_

_And you always found the meaning_

_And you always will_

_And you always will_

_And you always will

* * *

_

The man singing started to glow a faint orange light from a strange object hanging around his neck, and the next chorus held the most feeling that the priest had ever heard coming from a man.

* * *

_And I know, _

_You're a part of me,_

_And it's your song, _

_That sets me free._

_I sing it while, _

_I feel I can't hold on_

_I sing tonight, _

_Cause it comforts me.

* * *

_

And then a pink light joined the orange radiating from his chest, as the blond guitarists slowly finished off the song. And as suddenly as both lights had come, they dissipated, leaving the brown haired man sobbing into his hands, slumped on the ground, with a new, inescapable sense of loss, and unwanted memories flooding his head.

* * *

_---Flashback---_

_ The brown haired man had entered their apartment late one afternoon and had called for his wife, with a loud voice. He had gotten a big raise and wanted to treat her to dinner. When she didn't answer, he frowned, because he had seen her car in the basement lot, and had assumed she was home. He walked to the hall that connected the living room to the bathroom and bedroom. He stopped in the bedroom first and was alarmed to see a broken window, with shards of glass littered across the floor. He called out her name again, with an audible sense of fear and urgency, and rushed towards the bathroom. He paled and began to shake when he saw the bathroom door closed, with one large red handprint trailing down from the knob. He slowly reached out with a violently shaking hand and opened the door. What he saw brought him to his knees. There was his love, lying dead on the cold floor. _

_ When the police found him blacked out and revived him, they told him that she had resisted against an armed robber who had then consequently stabbed her repeatedly before shooting her. All of the officers looked at him with pity, but the brown haired man was only sick. His angel was gone, and he was alone._

_---End Flashback---

* * *

_

As the friends of the girl left the church, being the last to do so, the priest only shook his head. _Poor Taichi,_ he thought to himself. He had married the two only a few months before. They had been so happy. He turned and walked back to the front of the church. And as the rain began to fall, the priest threw out all the remaining booklets that simply read,

_**For Sora,**_

_**Wife, Daughter**_

_**Friend**_

The priest sighed as he locked the doors. He had seen only a handful of cases such as this. And he knew there would be at least one more funeral he would have to look over by the end of the week...

... but this time, there would be no one singing.

* * *

**Hethra:** Well there it is. It's sad, dark, depressing, but a great song. To all those who tried to make it through I apologize. I won't write ones like this too often. To those who guessed it was Taiora, you were right. So read, review, flame me if you like (I'll just ignore you anyway if you do) and I'll see you all next time.

**Edrias:** And so will I.

_ -The Unknown Warrior_


End file.
